


Little Teasing Notes

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anonymity, Anonymous Love Notes, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Pining, relationship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6970228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a small exercise to improve his penmanship, but Fenris finds that he can't stop writing notes to Anders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Teasing Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt on the Dragon Age Kink Meme.

It started as a small exercise to improve his penmanship. 

Hawke gave Fenris the basic tools of literacy. He gave Fenris private lessons and handed him books filled with simple stories as he worked to make up for a lifetime of deprivation. Fenris diligently copied his letters as he learned what each symbol stood for, how each symbol interacted with each other to form a word. He struggled with sentences. Words were a simple enough concept to grasp, but once they were strung with other words it became difficult to read them and interpret their meaning. He covered the other words, slowly piecing them together until he finally understood what they all meant together. When Fenris finally understood that, he started writing sentences himself, muttering the words out loud in the quiet of his home, accompanied by the sound of raindrops and the gentle crackle of the fire. 

Fenris's first exercises were sentences from what he read. The mabari is brave. The sun is warm. The boy drinks the water. The girl bakes the bread. Fenris wrote each sentence down, over and over until he was confident in his spelling and the formation of his letters. Hawke teased him over his obsessive chase for perfection, but Fenris easily shrugged off the good-humored badgering. It was no crime to want to be good at a task, to be competent. To become skilled at something of his choosing... well, Fenris could think of nothing more fulfilling than that. 

But Fenris tired of copying words that were not his own. He wanted to write his own words, put pen to parchment and make a mark that stretched out beyond his ability to wield a sword or his flimsy status as a fugitive slave. Fenris wanted _more_ , wanted to _be_ more. So in the dead of night, when all was still and quiet save for the flicker of a candle flame and the faint sounds of mice scampering through the rotting walls of the mansion, Fenris wrote his own sentences on spare scraps of parchment, practicing his spelling and grammar as he improved his wobbly, uncertain hand. He committed his life to paper, recorded it with words. He wrote down his thoughts, his observations, his feelings, and the sentences became more complex, more fleshed out, the more he practiced. 

_The Bone Pit is an unpleasant place. I would be happy to never visit again._

_Hawke drank too much ale. Isabela took him home. Hawke always drinks around this time._

_Varric listens too much. He was writing for his book again._

_Sebastian prays when he is homesick. I do not know what it means to be homesick._

_The Witch presided over a marriage in the Alienage. The people look to her for guidance._

_Aveline insisted on practicing at the guard barracks today. Judging by the audience, I believe she tricked me into giving her guards a demonstration._

_Donnic is terrible at Wicked Grace, but excellent at Diamondback. He will always lose to Varric though. Varric cheats._

_Isabela flirts, but her heart is not in it. She is pining._

_The mage insisted on healing a minor bruise on my side. The magic did not burn me. It was... surprising._

_The mage cries in his sleep. His dreams are either of Darkspawn or something much worse._

_The mage should cook all our meals, if only to save us from Hawke's attempts at making a meal._

Fenris kept practicing with his short notes, not even noticing how much he wrote about his companions. How much he wrote about the mage. How much he wrote about _Anders_. It happened so gradually, he hardly knew when it started. But it was somewhere between the note _Anders's eyes sparkle when he laughs. He does not laugh often._ ” and “ _He cares. Even when he is angry he cares._ ” that Fenris recognized just how far he had fallen. 

He hesitated to call it lust. Fenris understood lust, felt it spike hot and sharp in his gut when Anders's eyes flashed their many moods, felt it wriggle and writhe in the sway of Anders's hips and the soft curve of his neck as he bent over another patient in need. Yet Fenris knew his feelings extended beyond desire. There was affection, warm and pleasant and tight in his chest when Anders stumbled into the Hanged Man and slumped into a seat, exhausted but pleased with his daily accomplishments. Rage rolled in his stomach when Anders let the demon control him, let it push him beyond his limits. His throat would tighten those nights around the fire when Anders muttered in his sleep, his brow furrowed, his limbs twitching in response to the strange dreams that haunted him. It was _more_ than lust, of that Fenris was certain. 

It was clear that he had fallen for the mage. Anders. A terrible choice, Fenris mused as he tilted his head back to drink from the bottle he liberated from the cellar. He could not have picked a worse partner if he tried. Everyone knew that he and Anders were combative at best, and downright hostile at their worst. They could never find common ground. At this point, most of their friends were convinced that they could only agree on three issues: Blood magic was bad, Kirkwall was a cesspool of madness, and a friendship with Hawke always included bruises upon bruises. Fenris had tried to make his feelings known once. Once was the operative word. Fenris grimaced and drank more of his wine, downing the bottle in a few short, easy gulps. 

Fenris had been knocked flat on his back by Tal-Vashoth blade, concussed and confused as he lay on the rocky coastline. While Hawke and Varric drove the bandits away, Anders crouched above him to check on his injuries. He called his name in an urgent, concerned voice, his rough fingertips brushed across Fenris's forehead, cooling the heated skin. As Fenris opened his eyes to look up at his rescuer, the sun gleamed behind Anders's head, setting the golden strands aflame. The man _glowed_ with life and emotion and fire, and Fenris could only stare and wonder how Anders managed to look beautiful in the midst of battle. 

“Your hair...” Fenris croaked, unable to say much more without his ribs twinging in agony. 

“Hmm?” Anders glanced down. “Knickerweasels, must've gotten in range of a fireball or something.” Anders frowned, lifting a chunk of singed hair with two fingers and eyeing it distastefully. Fenris tried to sit up, but Anders pressed him back down to the sandy earth. 

“Save your strength you stubborn elf, the battle is over.” Anders said firmly, as if he was scolding a recalcitrant child. 

“I can stand, I do not need healing-” Fenris struggled to find the right words, his head swimming. The others needed healing, he had been through worse and survived, Anders shouldn't waste his energy over nothing! He could stand! But Fenris also knew that he was afraid of the glow in Anders's palm, afraid of the burst of magic that would course through his veins, igniting the lyrium and burning him- Anders never burnt him, but Fenris was still afraid. 

“Couldn't you just keep your mage-hating to yourself for five minutes while I save your life? Just once?” Anders sighed. 

“Kaffas, I am not-” 

“Just shut up and let me work. You can go back to despising me once I'm done.” Anders muttered, returning to his healing with vicious determination. Fenris stayed quiet and let Anders heal, dissatisfaction gnawing in his heart like an irritated snake eating its tail. 

That was the first and last time he ever attempted to tell Anders about his... attraction. Affections. Admiration. Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, slow breath, air filling his lungs. His bottle hung limply in his other hand. Fenris wished he had an outlet for these feelings, for his frustration, that he had a way to let Anders know what Fenris felt for him without their tempers flaring out of control. Fenris wished he had a way with words, like Varric, or at least a skill with saying the right ones, like Hawke, but he never knew what to say or when to say it. 

If only there was a way to let Anders know how he felt... the thought floated in Fenris's head, buoyed by the wine and soaring on wistful longing, twisting and turning this way and that as he sat and thought in front of the fire. An idea took root that he could not shake, and Fenris allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Perhaps he could not _say_ what he felt, but there were other ways to make his feelings known. 

-

Fenris labored over the first note for two days. There was something to be said for committing one's thoughts and feelings to paper. Yet nothing he wrote seemed to adequately explain the breadth and depth of his regard for Anders. There were so many things that Fenris felt, but there was just too much in his head. He didn't know what he should say because there was so much to say. 

Anders would not have these troubles, Fenris mused as he threw another note into the fire. Anders was free with his emotions and thoughts, frank and honest and open. Fenris dreamed of having the certainty of self that came with that freedom. He wished he could learn it as Anders learned it. It was as he mused on freedom and what it meant to him that Fenris finally knew what to write. He slipped the note under a book on local flora and fauna that Anders kept on his desk when Hawke took their party by Anders's clinic that afternoon. 

-

That evening was Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man. Varric was shuffling the deck for another game when Anders walked in. Fenris took in the man's tired but broad smile, the confident stride, the lightness of the mage's step, and felt a bubble of hope well up in his chest. 

“You look happy!” Merrill remarked, her voice high and bright. 

“Yes, I am!” Anders replied with a grin. “Oh, Nora's made stew? Excellent.” 

“Anything special happen?” Hawke asked. “Mysterious donation? Saved the entire slum from certain doom? Spat on a Templar?” 

“Hawke!” Sebastian hissed, utterly scandalized. 

“Better.” Anders said, his eyes flashing with pleasure. “I've found a kindred spirit!” 

“Another one?” Aveline asked dryly. “You don't have a good record with spirits, Anders.” 

“I'll pretend you didn't say that.” Anders said breezily, reaching into a pouch at his side to pull out a familiar scrap of thick parchment. Fenris knew what was written. He wrote it, after all. 

_I admire how you value freedom._

Hawke whistled lowly, and Varric let out a long, low chuckle. 

“Looks like you have a secret admirer, Blondie!” Varric said with his customary cheer. 

“I found it on my desk.” Anders said. “Crammed under a book. They must have shoved it there when I was with my patients. I didn't notice anything else.” 

He finally sat down between Isabela and Merrill, cramming his tall frame into the small space. He sat directly across from Fenris, and Fenris struggled to keep his face straight. At least his words managed to make the man happy, Fenris thought. That was all he needed, really. It was enough to know he could bring a smile to Anders's face. 

“That's a bit of an odd love note.” Isabela teased. “They should have said 'I admire your pert arse' or something, don't you think?” 

“Isabela!” Sebastian's face went from beet red to crimson. 

“It would also be a lie.” Fenris muttered. He didn't _admire_ Anders's arse. He _appreciated_ it. He would still care for Anders even if he were hideous, though the attractive body was an added treat of sorts. Anders rolled his eyes. 

“Fenris!” Hawke hissed, aiming an elbow to Fenris's ribs. The hit stung a bit. 

“Don't bother, Hawke.” Anders said, his voice slightly snide. “He just doesn't see why someone would find me attractive because I'm a mage and he's a bigoted-” 

“Anders, don't you even start.” Aveline sighed. “Varric, shuffle the cards, we are going to sit down and play Wicked Grace and have a _pleasant evening_.” The last two words were drawn out like a threat. Fenris grimaced, but kept his mouth shut. At least his note had been well received, Fenris thought. At least it made Anders smile. That was all he could ask for. It was all he needed. 

-

But Fenris couldn't help but write another note to Anders, something short and honest that he composed in his head as they trudged back to Kirkwall and that he slipped under a ragged pillow laying on a clinic cot. Anders produced it from his pocket at the next Wicked Grace night. 

“Alright, Isabela, come clean. I know this was you.” Anders said, his face flushed. Fenris struggled to contain his smirk and barely managed to hold it back. Anders waved the scrap of parchment in front of them, the words neatly written in Fenris's spidery penmanship. 

_Your eyes are lively and bright._

“Too sappy for me, sweet cheeks.” Isabela sniggered. “Or should I say 'Bright Eyes?'” 

“Oh, fuck off.” Anders muttered as he slumped into a seat. “If I find out that one of you is teasing me, I swear on Andraste's Tits that I'll never heal any of you lot again!” 

Fenris did not take the threat seriously. He did not write these notes in jest. 

The notes came easier after that, the words flowing from pen to paper in an inspired fountain of script. Fenris found that he loved writing, loved making permanent marks that represented his thoughts. Everyone could read what he had written if he wanted them to. But Fenris kept the notes well hidden. They were meant for Anders alone. 

Fenris hid the next note among the many potion bottles Anders lined on his shelves. 

_You are kind despite the cruelty you have seen and endured. You are stronger than most. You are stronger than me.”_

Fenris kept his smiles to himself by ducking his head when he spied Anders reading and re-reading that particular note on a trip up Sundermount. Anders blushed and shared sweet smiles with the scrap of paper, ignoring Hawke's teasing and Varric's pointed questions. Fenris managed to make the mage happy with his words, which filled him with satisfaction. Fenris kept silent as Hawke begged Anders to share more about the notes and his mysterious admirer. 

“Oh be quiet, Hawke! I think these are very sweet!” Anders protested. “And no harm's come from them.” 

“Not saying it's not sweet, Anders.” Hawke said with a smile. “But this _is_ Kirkwall. Gifts tend to have strings attached.” 

“There isn't even a name attached to them!” Anders scoffed. “How would this have any strings? They're just sending me nice notes! That's all it is!” 

“It's very touching.” Varric drawled. “Want me to investigate further? Figure out who's leaving the notes?” 

“No, you'll scare them off.” Anders grumbled. 

“If they are sending you so many messages I doubt that a dwarf and his many spies will frighten them away.” Fenris stated, keeping his voice bland. Anders's small smirk filled his heart with lightness. 

“Careful, Fenris.” Anders teased. “You might have just said something nice to me!” 

“Perish the thought.” Fenris said dryly, and his nerves nearly hummed with pleasure when Anders laughed. That was his doing, Fenris thought with pride. He and his notes did this. 

The notes poured out of him after that. Fenris remarked on Anders's skill as a healer, admired his devotion to his duties, spilled countless words that praised his intelligence, his strength, his ferocity as Anders fought a war against sickness and poverty. He snuck in treats with the notes, bits of candy, a few apples, a handful of herbs. It became an addiction. Fenris would write a note, find a little gift to attach to it, and place it in the clinic for the mage to find. He loved watching how his words put a bounce into the man's step, an extra bit of light in his eyes, a bit of straightness to his spine. Fenris loved every moment of it. 

Fenris was particularly proud of the time he managed to sneak a basket filled with food and a message ( _You go without far too often. It is noble but foolish. This is yours_ ) into the clinic while Anders was busy helping a heavily pregnant elven woman. Fenris darted into Anders's back room, dropped off the basket and note, and was not noticed until he almost left the clinic. 

“Fenris!” Anders called out, and Fenris's heart almost burst from his chest. “I didn't notice you over there. Something wrong?” 

“Hawke asked that I fetch you.” Fenris lied. “But you are busy.” 

“Yes, sorry.” Anders apologized, wiping a stray hair off his forehead with the back of his wrist. The day was muggy and over-hot, even down in the depths of Darktown. The man looked frazzled, Fenris thought, and rather tired. Exhausted, even. His eyes looked haunted, and Fenris wondered which demon pestered Anders's thoughts and denied him rest. Was it Justice, or the past? 

“No need to apologize.” Fenris said softly, and if Anders thought his kindness strange he had the good grace to not mention it. 

“Ellie's in labor and Issac is in a panic. So I won't be going anywhere.” Anders gestured to the elven couple behind him. The woman was slowly tottering around the room as an extremely anxious male elf supported her, rubbing her back and murmuring encouraging words. The woman rolled her eyes but allowed the fussing. 

“I see.” Fenris stated. Anders would be busy this afternoon. Perhaps all evening. Even the best childbirths were horribly exhausting for everyone involved. “Do you need assistance?” 

“Are you offering?” Anders asked immediately before wincing. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was, that is...” 

“I would not have asked otherwise.” Fenris said firmly, cutting off Anders's stumbling words. “What do I do?” 

It was as if Fenris's words issued a blanket of calm over Anders. He relaxed, shoulders dropping, brow unfurling. 

“Boil some more hot water, I need you to brew a tea for me. Well, for Issac. He's so nervous _I'm_ getting anxious.” Anders said, clearly in control of his clinic once again. 

“Of course.” Fenris replied. He followed Anders's instructions. He boiled water, made tea, handed over strange medical tools and herbs when Anders requested them, gave Anders clean cloth and more water. He watched as Anders efficiently delivered a red and squalling babe into the world, cut the umbilical cord, and cleansed the child before declaring him healthy and handing him off to his proud parents. 

“Thank you for your help.” Anders said softly, moving away to give the new family some semblance of privacy. 

“You're... welcome.” Fenris said after a long pause. “I should go now.” 

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Anders opened the door and ushered Fenris out of the clinic. “I'll see you around.” 

“Yes. Until then.” 

“Good night, Fenris.” 

Fenris waited until the door was shut to sigh and murmur a gentle “Good night, Anders.” into the night sky. He returned to his home and wrote more notes, pages upon pages of his admiration, his desires, his hopes that one day Anders could feel a fraction of what Fenris felt for him. He briefly considered burning them once he was done, but instead shoved them under his mattress. This was dangerous, Fenris thought grimly as he stared at the quill pens and thick paper on the table. He started this as writing practice and a deeper desire to make the mage happy. But now he was pining for what he could never have. Fenris vowed to stop this madness now before he was in too deep. Something told him that it was already too late. 

-

It _was_ too late for Fenris. His note-writing was an addiction. He couldn't stop writing notes or sending them to Anders. The notes just made the mage so _happy_. How could Fenris not write them? 

The message _You are brave and fierce. It is appreciated._ was written after Anders speared a slaver with a giant icicle before they reached Fenris. It was placed under the oil lamp on Anders's desk. 

_You have a gentle touch and manner_ was written after a night in Anders's clinic, when Anders tended to him after a run in with blood mages on the Wounded Coast. He tucked that into the pile of papers Anders was using for his manifesto. 

_Your enthusiasm is infectious, even if you have no ear for music._ That was after a particularly wild night in the Hanged Man. Fenris slipped it into Anders's jacket with a deftness that would have driven Isabela wild with envy. 

It seemed that the more Fenris wrote, the more he reflected. The more he reflected, the more he fell deeper and deeper in desire. Deeper and deeper in love. The notes became more playful, teasing, fun, drawing more smiles and even a few laughs from Anders when he read them. 

_You are thinner than a broomstick. Eat._ One of his notes demanded. He left it on Anders's desk with a loaf of bread. 

_You looked lovely today. Your smile is stunning._ That one was slipped under Anders's door. 

_I am impressed by how you navigate Darktown when you're half asleep from exhaustion. Impressed and concerned. Get more rest, Anders._ He put that note on Anders's cot. 

“You know, they've got a point.” Fenris remarked when Anders was reading that last note at the campfire. “You should rest, mage.” 

“Oh, is that concern I'm hearing?” Anders joked, hastily stuffing the note into his pocket. “I must be dreaming!” Fenris scowled. He wanted to be included in conversations. He wanted to _belong_ like the others belonged. But Fenris felt like Anders was mocking instead of joking, and that mockery stung. Then he would scowl and try to be more dignified to make up for the mocking, and it would only make Anders mock him more. 

“Perhaps it is.” Fenris said stiffly. Anders laughed, and Fenris flushed. He could barely meet Anders's eyes, shame warring with anger in his heart, hot and heavy and thick in his throat. But Anders stopped laughing and looked at Fenris. 

“You... you really meant that.” Anders murmured. Fenris shrugged and tried to ignore it. 

“I say what I mean.” He always said what he meant. 

“Knickerweasels, you actually were being nice, and I was- ugh, that is-” Anders sighed. “Thank you, Fenris.” 

“You're welcome.” Fenris replied. He stood up and brushed his leggings of imagined dirt. “I am to bed. Good night.” 

He slipped into his tent, the one that he shared with Anders this trip. It was a new kind of torture, to have all these feelings and have the person at the root of those feelings right within his reach. Close enough to touch, should he so desire. Fenris wanted it very much. But he controlled himself. He wrote another note when Anders was keeping watch, promising to hide it in the clinic when they got back. 

_You are free with your emotions. It is a wondrous thing to behold._

-

Fenris remarked on all of Anders's attractive qualities in his notes. It was only natural that a healthy portion of his notes remarked on Anders's physical beauty. 

_Your hair is like sunlight_ managed to find its way on top of Anders's wooden comb, and _You are entirely too attractive when you walk_ was left inside Anders's boots. _You have a fine form, be sure to dress it warmly_ was left in Anders's linen wardrobe. 

Anders did not share these notes with the group, but his secret smiles and bright flushes of color showed that he had read them. Fenris was addicted to the reality that he could please Anders with his words and actions. He was thrilled. He had to do it again and again, in any way possible. He handed more notes to Anders, hiding them anywhere he could manage. Every spot in the clinic had been used to hide a note at some point. 

There was not a single moment where Fenris considered that his relationship with Anders could extend beyond these anonymous notes and his secret longing. His goal was to make Anders smile, and the notes made him smile. It was enough. Fenris never expected anything more. Making Anders happy was reward enough. 

So when Anders stumbled into the Hanged Man with a frown on his face and exhaustion in his eyes, and Varric jabbed Fenris in the ribs, a silent cue for Fenris to keep any rude remarks to himself. Fenris knew he had to slip Anders another anonymous note to try and lighten the burden on the man's shoulders. Fenris returned to his mansion and scribbled something down, then hurried down each shadowed, steep step to Darktown to Anders's darkened clinic. The lock was bad and the latch feeble. Fenris had no trouble breaking in. He slunk across the floor, his note in hand. There were no lights, no sound. Either Anders was out or asleep, and Fenris relaxed. He would leave the note on the desk, right in the center. Anders would find it in the morning and be none the wiser. He ducked into the back room and set the note down. A pale hand lined with blue cracks gripped his wrist firmly, the knuckles white with tension. 

“ **You are the one who has distracted Anders of late.** ” Justice boomed, pupil-less ice blue eyes boring into Fenris. “ **You are the one who left the notes.** ” 

There was no denying it. Fenris had no wish to deny it. He also knew that lying to Justice was impossible. The demon, spirit, _creature_ had an uncanny ability to discern truth from falsehood, and it had no issue pointing out a bald-faced lie. It seemed to take perverse pleasure in letting the truth be known, no matter how uncomfortable it was to hear. 

“Yes. I left the notes.” Fenris confessed. There was nothing else to do. 

“ **You flatter Anders in your missives. You send notes of admiration.** ” Justice sounded confused, as confused as a spirit could sound. “ **Yet you choose to irritate and condemn him when you meet in the flesh.** ” 

“I find it difficult to speak with him.” Fenris corrected the demon as he ground his teeth together. “Let go of my arm.” 

“ **Of course.** ” Justice intoned blandly, but he didn't let go of Fenris's wrist. “ **But you will tell me why you are here.** ” 

“You? Where is Anders?” Terror seized Fenris's heart as horrible thoughts flashed through his mind. Anders once said that Justice never took over without provocation, that he never walked around without Anders's permission. That they were one and the same. If Justice was walking now, either Anders was present and aware of Fenris's actions, or Anders was... Anders was- 

“ **He is sleeping. The clinic was overrun today with victims of chokedamp.** ” Justice boomed. “ **He needs his rest.** ” It was then that Justice let Fenris go. Fenris snatched his wrist back and clutched it to his chest, eyeing Justice warily. Justice stood stiffly in place, Anders's hands hanging limply at his sides as the demon stared. He still did not blink. 

“I came to deliver a note.” Fenris said slowly. Justice cocked his head to the side, and Fenris could never quite get used to Justice controlling Anders's body. They held themselves differently. They spoke differently. Everything about Justice unnerved Fenris because it was Anders's body, but Anders was not inside of it. Not really, no matter how much Anders argued otherwise. 

“ **Another message.** ” Justice gave Fenris another long, searching look. “ **You speak true.** ” Justice once again sounded surprised. Fenris snorted, an exasperated sound that truly explained how he felt down to his core. Justice did not think much of him. Justice didn't think much of anyone. 

Justice pressed further. “ **You admire Anders. You... care for him.** ” 

“Do not tell me how I feel.” Fenris hissed back, ice dripping down his spine. How dare this demon wear Anders's face, stare at him, and analyze his emotions and thoughts as if they were his to look at. “Do not _dare_ to presume what I feel!” 

“ **You would keep this secret from him.** ” Justice stated blandly. “ **It is unjust.** ” 

“He would not have me!” Fenris's voice nearly broke at that, but he kept control, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “He would not want me, and I will not saddle him with my problems. They are my own.” 

“ **You do not know that.** ” Justice said, and if Fenris didn't know better he would have thought the demon was trying to comfort him. Fenris turned his gaze away. 

“I know enough.” Fenris sighed. “I will leave the note and bother him no further.” 

“ **You would stop?** ” Justice asked. “ **You would leave should he wish it?** ” 

“Yes. He will not want these from me.” Fenris said, his heart sinking down to his stomach. “He never will.” Fenris shuffled past Justice's looming figure and lay the note on Anders's bed, in the middle of his thin, ragged pillow. 

_You are stronger than you think, but it is no crime to lay your burdens down for a time._

Justice's eyes flashed blue as he read the paper, his lips silently forming the words. 

“ **Do not leave him, elf.** ” Justice finally demanded. “ **He needs you. He needs your support.** ” 

“All I want is for him to be happy.” Fenris murmured. He looked up at Justice, at the bemused expression the spirit made with Anders's face. “Please, let him be happy.” 

Fenris stepped back in horror when the blue glow that heralded Justice's presence faded away into nothingness, and he stared up into Anders's bleary, unfocused, startled brown eyes. 

“Fenris? What's- what are you doing here?” Anders's confused expression shifted into panic. “Knickerweasels, what was- was Justice out? Did he do something? Oh Maker-” 

“You did nothing wrong, Anders.” Fenris said, his mouth dry. The truth. He would have to tell Anders the truth. “I was... I was the one to visit you tonight. After the clinic closed.” 

“Oh.” Anders blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, Justice was sort of-” Anders waved his hand vaguely. “Talking. Loudly. Did something happen? I can't recall the evening beyond-” 

Fenris winced as Anders's eyes widened, as if Justice had just informed Anders of what happened while he was... away. 

“I should go.” Fenris said lamely, heat rushing to his neck, his face, to the points of his ears. He turned to flee, but Anders's hand reached out to grasp his shoulder. Fenris nimbly avoided it and backed away from Anders. The door was behind him, he could open the door and run before Anders could catch him. He could- 

“No, Fenris! Wait!” Anders pleaded. He did not give chase, but his eyes (wide, brown, gentle and desperate and gleaming in the moonlight) made Fenris pause. “I- did you really leave those notes? Are they- are you?” 

“Yes. I'm sorry.” Fenris lowered his gaze to the floor. “I did not mean to frighten you.” 

“You didn't!” Anders protested. “I'm just, well I suppose I'm just surprised. I had no idea that you cared. Cared about me, that is.” 

“You weren't supposed to know.” Fenris mumbled. Anders wasn't supposed to find out. They couldn't talk to each other like the others in Hawke's party. They fought tooth and nail when they saw each other, and Fenris didn't know how to _stop_ fighting. “I need to go.” 

“Fenris, please. Please, just tell me why.” Anders's voice was so soft, so gentle, and Fenris couldn't pull away. Anders's ferocity was one of the first things Fenris noticed about him, but it was his tenderness that compelled him to stay. Had Anders ever been gentle with him when he wasn't acting as a healer? Maker knew they had never been gentle otherwise. 

“We have never truly spoken with each other.” Fenris said haltingly. “I learned that this was the only way I could say what I meant without misunderstandings.” 

“You could have signed your name. Let me know it was you.” Anders pointed out. 

“Would you have read them?” Fenris challenged, and the bashful look in Anders's eyes told him all he needed to know. “It was... I wanted to let you know that someone cared. I wanted you to be happy. Someone should be.” 

Anders was quiet for some time. Fenris shifted from one foot to the other, the tightly packed dirt of the clinic floor cool under his feet. He waited for Anders to speak, but Anders said nothing. He was staring blankly ahead. Sometimes his lips moved without a sound, and Fenris suspected that he was having a conversation with Justice. Fenris was debating the merits of walking away while Anders was distracted when Anders shrugged his shoulders and seemed to return to the present. 

“Justice said you would have stopped. That you will stop, if I ask.” Anders was staring at him the strangest expression on his face. His mouth was solemn, but his eyes gleamed with an odd inner light, as if he were lit up from within. Anders seemed to almost... approve of him? Fenris didn't know. He was completely out of his depth here, standing in front of Anders 

“I will not do something you don't want.” Fenris croaked out. “I will stop.” 

“And if I don't want you to?” Anders asked, and stepped forward. Closer. “What if I want you to do it again?” 

“You want more notes? Notes from me?” Fenris asked. This made no sense. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, as Anders stepped closer and took Fenris's hand in his own. His hands were warm, Fenris thought through the rush of blood in his head and the heavy pounding of his heart. 

“I love your notes. I've kept every single one.” Anders replied. His expression was soft, kind, and Fenris felt a bubble of hope welling up in his chest. “Please, stay?” 

“If that's what you wish.” Fenris murmured. Anders wanted to talk, wanted to talk to _him_ , and Fenris felt light and wonderful because Anders wasn't turning him away. Anders tugged him back to his private quarters before settling him down on a stool. Anders sat on his cot across from him. Fenris noted that Anders hadn't let go of his hand. 

“We can start now.” Anders said, his eyes trained somewhere on Fenris's feet, his cheeks flushed a pale pink. “Talking. You and I.” 

“We could.” Fenris, feeling bolder now, squeezed Anders's hand.“Though you may have to lead the conversation.” 

Anders smiled then, a bright, honest, eager smile filled with joy, and Fenris was _happy_. 

“I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, and/or commenting on this story! It's very appreciated!
> 
> Edit (5/31/16): Everyone has left so many kind comments on this story (plus the other works I've written) that I just have to say thank you. Thank you, all of you, for reading and leaving your thoughts on my work. I read every single one and treasure them all. I am so, so grateful to you guys! I started writing these stories as a way to relax and share some of my ideas, but I never, ever expected that anyone would read them. Thank you all so much, and I can't wait to share more of my work with this community!   
> \- ContreParry


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